


Dead Marriage Walking

by Onya_Juniper_Vesse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bad Parenting, Divorce, F/M, Forced Marriage, Verbal Abuse, Zero empathy, survival sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 20:47:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12615156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onya_Juniper_Vesse/pseuds/Onya_Juniper_Vesse
Summary: His words lead her to insight and a life-changing decision





	Dead Marriage Walking

Late in the summer of 200?, he stood in the minuscule hallway of her newly rented flat. Their children were in school. He was looking in during his lunch break, and she had, reluctantly, agreed to see him, to "at least listen" to what he had to say. So she took a break from work in her bedroom-home office combo, to hear him out. 

Later, she could not remember if they had shared a meal or not, or if that lunch break tradition started later. She could not remember if he spoke soon after he came in or when he was leaving. She could not even remember if this was the first time he came over, or the second, or the third. The only thing she could later remember about this visit was The Speech. 

A fortnight earlier she had taken the kids to stay at a safe house for abused women. She had been bone tired, mentally and emotionally worn to a husk by constant, almost daily repeating drama in their marriage. He had apparently endless energy for complaints, worries, accusations and expressing negative feelings in general. But, as he repeatedly stressed to all the professionals now dealing with their case, he had never laid a hand on any of them. 

[Well, there was of course that one time when he had yanked the younger kid's elbow out of joint when she was two, but it seemed petty and vindictive to point that out six years later. And how badly mistaken he had been in not believing the older kid about how painful the kid's knees had been all that summer would only become clear a couple of weeks later, when a doctor diagnosed an illness, well known for how painful it was. And badgering your wife until she could not sleep did not count, because it wasn't _physical_ violence...] 

No matter how many times she had said, or how she had said it, that repeating drama was a typical symptom of them both having grown up in dysfunctional, abusive families, and that they needed outside help, it made no dent in his tirades. She did not respect him enough, he was worried about their marriage (but would not go to counseling), he feared she was being a bad mother, her career choices had been unwise ("I GOT FIRED!" she had yelled in response). And on and on and on and on. 

The last two years he had also been drinking way more than she felt safe with. But that had nothing to do with his father! Absolutely not! He had stared in wordless defiance when she pointed out that, in over a decade, neither she nor either of their children had ever met their retiree grandpa sober. 

... 

Something in the softness of his voice made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and only a few words in she turned to the side, to arrange something, so he could not look her straight in the face. She dared not turn her back, but at least a profile did not betray as much. 

"Having two apartments and having the children spend one week at each in turn would be an ideal solution, but we of course cannot afford that." 

Her thoughts stumbled. He did not explain why they "could not afford." Was it because his "only" 3,500 a month, after taxes, and a loan-free 1,200 sq ft house made him feel almost poor? (well, in comparison to his parents he of course was) Or because her around 1,000 a month supposedly helped not at all? Or because it was impossible to cut down from the 200-350 per month that had been routinely spent on alcohol for the last two years? Or because it was necessary to eat meat almost every day and only tenderloin and sirloin would suffice? Or because it was unthinkable to ask if they could, even temporarily, use one of his mother's investment apartments? 

"I've done some research about alimony, and if you have even a little income, the sum I have to pay sinks to the minimum that the law requires. You don't have your degree yet, so it is unlikely that you will get a good job that pays well. So with what you can realistically make, you cannot really afford a good home for the kids." He paused and she stole a glance to see him looking meaningfully in the direction of the only other room of the small flat, where the kids' new mattresses lay on the floor. She quickly looked down at her hands again and willed her breathing to steady. 

"So I propose that in the divorce settlement I become the primary parent, and they live with me at the old home. That way their routines would not change too much, and with my income, I can afford to provide for them. You would of course get to meet them during weekends and for a part of the summer. Though naturally I would want my share of the weekends, too. And it's only fair that we alternate with things like Yule and other family celebrations." 

She automatically calculated and came to that this would allow her children to be with their mother only every other weekend and for 4-6 weeks in the summer. But she had worked part-time from home since the younger one had started kindergarten, so that the children would not need to be alone in the afternoons after school. The change would be enormous for them. 

"Of course it is possible that you could win a court case against me, but if I understand correctly, you cannot afford to take me to court." He actually sounded almost apologetic, as if he was sorry that the realities were so harsh for her. 

There was nothing in his voice -- not even a trace -- to indicate that he consciously intended what he had just said as pressure or threat. He simply saw an unavoidable problem, as it was only natural that he would pay no more than the minimum that the law required; as it was only natural that he -- the wronged party, the victim -- should not need to add insult to injury by having to change his lifestyle, not even a bit. 

Consequently, he was offering the for him most obvious solution. After all, it was she who had broken their marriage by walking out, so of course that meant that he would get to keep living in their old home. 

He was, in his own framing, only trying to be helpful in a difficult situation. Like the Nice Guy™ he had so often explained himself to be. 

Still facing to the side, she thought in overdrive. She would have to turn back to face him soon if she did not want a scene, she could feel that. But how could she face him? 

One thing was crystal clear, though: there was no way she would be able to leave a ten year old and an eight year old alone with a "parent" who apparently did not even realize (alternatively: did not care in the slightest) that children almost certainly get traumatized from suddenly losing almost all contact with their longtime primary caretaker. She would not have been able to, even if the children in question had been strangers, if it had been in her power to do something about the situation. 

Compared to the trauma of loveless parenting that her children could be facing, the realization that her husband had never loved her and had not recognized her love, not even when she had been screaming it in his face, almost failed to sting. 

In a second as long as a lifetime the decision solidified into a vision, which she later translated into internal speech, not daring to write anything down for years and years, lest he should find it: _"I am not the first mother -- or father, or older sibling -- to prostitute myself to provide for and protect the youngest of the family. If I must, I can do this. And I must. They have nobody else. And he made sure there were no witnesses to what he just said, so finding someone who would believe me, fast enough, who also has the resources to help effectively, is not a realistic option. 'Cause he's right: I can't afford to take him to court. And a court battle between their parents would bring additional hurt to the children. Our tough eight year old and sensitive ten year old are both much too young to grapple with the reality that their father is incapable of loving them: that he never has and likely never will, because he does not know what love is. They need to be considerably older to be able to understand that it really, truly is not their fault. That they are, and have been perfectly lovable. Always."_

She exhaled slowly, put down what she was fidgeting with and turned back towards him, her face molded into an attitude of thoughtful listening and appreciation of his concern and efforts. A mask she realized she would need to wear, and wear convincingly, for at least six years, more likely eight or ten. 

_"I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years,"_ Dumbledore's words rang inside her head _"my priority was to keep you alive."_ She hoped that one day her children would see her decision, too, as well enough justified. 

She then had a fleeting mental image from Eric Williams' book "The Wooden Horse." They had needed a team of firm, persevering, trustworthy allies to dig themselves out from the camp of war prisoners. And the wooden gymnastics horse as a long-lasting diversion / proverbial smoke screen. So she would vet and recruit helpers, one by one, exceedingly carefully. Collect resources. Graduate college. Build a solid subterfuge. Bide her time. 

Above all, she would teach and model authentic, fierce love to her children every day, and critical thinking about human relationships, and how to recognize relationship red flags in time, whenever her husband-turned-punter was not observing. They would all survive ( _"Oh please all nonexistent gods let me stay alive!"_ ) and one day they would escape, this time successfully. 

She had to believe that. Only by grasping that hope with both hands could she stomach the thought of enduring the years ahead -- the long years of a dead marriage walking.


End file.
